Stuffing your face with greasy fried breaded balls stuffed with melted processed ‘cheese’ and white pasta is one way to kill yourself. Yes, it will take time, but the best things in life take time. As my arteries clog up a little more each day, my heart and soul can be warmed knowing I’m closer to the end. They say there are two types of people: those who eat to live and those who live to eat. Whoever “they” is neglected the type of people like me, the ones who eat to die.
Combining balls of macaroni and cheese with fluffy, deep fried sticks of potatoes is just tops. The best part is this is just my snack. An average day consists of a three fried eggs, each sitting on top a nest of bacon topping a waffle. An espresso soda and a cup of iced coffee extra light with cream and extra sweet with both fake and real sugar packets are my morning beverages of choice. Snacks vary, but are usually consumed hourly and with a side of a dozen or so napkins to wipe the grease from my fingers. All my snacks are finger foods – burritos, chicken fingers, fries, sandwiches oozing with mayo, chips, etc. Lunch is usually fast food or some type of delivery, typical pizza or Chinese food. The more grease it drips the better. Heavy, creamy, delicious pasta dishes make my normal dinners. Occasionally I’ll grab a steak with a large helping of potatoes and my favorite “veggie” deep fried pickles. Surprisingly, I don’t enjoy dessert as much as people judge me to, I’d much prefer a loaf of bread lightly toasted and completely cover with butter.
Eating to die is freedom. It’s the best form of DIE-EATING I could ever imagine. Nothing anyone says to me can bother me, because I know with every creamy pasta dish saturated smothered in a blizzard of parmesan cheese; crispy, golden, flakey chicken thighs fried twice and doused with BBQ sauce; and triple decker grilled cheese with the fixings is a warm comforting bite towards death. After not being able to successfully kill myself twice earlier in my life I set out on a mission to eat myself to death, and boy oh boy does it taste good. At six feet and four hundred pounds I still have some work to do, but it can’t be too much longer. Until then I’ll just keep finding as many deadly foods to consume with the least amount of movement possible – I can’t afford to inadvertently burn any calories in search of food.